


Meaning

by wynnebat



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sugar Daddy, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: "I wouldn't mind," Percival says, raising an eyebrow while adjusting the position of Harry's new tie. "If that's what you want."Harry chokes on nothing at all. Air, embarrassment, that glint in Percival's eyes. The one he adores and hates in almost equal measure. Or, alright, not even close. He adores Percival far too much to mind the fact that his partner has a habit of getting what he wants and Harryreallyenjoys giving him everything.Harry shakes his head. "I don't."





	Meaning

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by littlemissrainhoe.

The first time Percival brings it up, they're in bed together.

“I’m sir'ed enough at the office,” Percival says, running a hand along Harry’s length. “Isn’t there something else you’d rather call me?”

Harry moans and doesn't answer. There isn't enough blood left in his head to think about what else Percival wants from him. All he can think, say, is _more_ , _please_ , and finally _thank you_.

Later, when he's all wrapped up in Percival, this time under a blanket, Harry murmurs, "I'm not calling you master."

He's already more than half asleep, but that's a point that has to be made. Master is for no-nosed megalomaniacs. He can feel Percival's soft chuckle and the way Percival rubs the back of his neck. Harry nuzzles into him, close as he can get.

"It's not that. Sleep, Harry."

*

The second time, Harry makes a joke too many about Percival being his sugar daddy.

"I wouldn't mind," Percival says, raising an eyebrow while adjusting the position of Harry's new tie. "If that's what you want."

Harry chokes on nothing at all. Air, embarrassment, that glint in Percival's eyes. The one he adores and hates in almost equal measure. Or, alright, not even close. He adores Percival far too much to mind the fact that his partner has a habit of getting what he wants and Harry _really_ enjoys giving him everything.

It's not only the tie. Everything Harry is wearing is new and bought for him by Percival. At first, Percival had bought him clothes because Harry had found himself in the past by accident and the whims of fate hadn't packed him a trunk, and Harry needed a change of clothes. After nearly a year in the past, Harry has his own section of Percival's closet. It's growing at an alarming rate. All because Percival can't seem to resist buying Harry new things.

Harry shakes his head. "I don't."

Percival's hands are warm, as is his kiss. When they resurface, Percival says, "That's fine, too."

"None of that," Harry grumbles. "It's too... Too..."

"Too?" Percival prods lightly. It's not his auror voice, but it's a cousin of it.

"Too weird," Harry decides after a long moment. He kisses Percival again to encourage a change of topic.

After, Percival asks what Harry would like for dinner and that's that.

Harry could forget it and move on with his life.

Harry can't forget it.

*

 _Is it an American thing or a 1920s thing,_ Harry wonders, head turning every time he hears the word _daddy_ being said. He could swear that he'd never heard it so often before Percival suggested it. Or maybe, Percival brought it to attention, and now it's all he hears. Harry would hate him for it if he were anywhere near capable of it. Hate doesn't tend to look like this, the way he grows hot under the collar when thinking of Percival's offer.

Sugar daddy is still a new phrase in this time, but it's catching on.

*

"I don't think of you the same way I think of my dad," Harry says one day over breakfast.

Percival lifts his gaze from the paper. "I don't want you to."

Harry stuffs a muffin into his mouth in case Percival expects him to continue on the topic. He's been bare with Percival more times than he can count, both emotionally and physically, and yet this is what fills him with embarrassment. The way the word feels in his mouth when he tries to say it, unable to do more than whisper, heart thudding as he tries it out. It's just a word.

Words have power, is the thing.

And this one in particular has too much power over him with the way Harry grows hard at the thought of it.

He's called his professors and elders _sir_ often enough. He's heard Voldemort's sycophants call him _master_. Maybe in the depths of his memory, there is one of Harry calling James by this word, but Harry doesn't remember it. If he uses it, the word would be Percival's, and Percival's only. There's something appealing about that.

*

Percival doesn't bring it up again.

It's because he's considerate.

It's also because—and Harry has now known him long enough to understand that if Percival were to put the Sorting Hat on his head, it would appoint him straight to Head of Slytherin house immediately—Percival knows that the longer the idea percolates in Harry's head, the more impatient Harry will get. Harry hasn't been patient a day in his life.

From start to finish, it takes him a week to make his decision.

And even then, it's not so much of a decision as it is submission. Both to his own desires and to Percival's, intertwined so thoroughly these days.

*

"Please, daddy," Harry whispers into Percival's ear. He kisses Percival's cheek, lingering. His green eyes are light with mischief as he points to a painting of a nest of dragons at the gallery they're visiting. "It will be perfect for the bedroom."

Actually, it will clash terribly with everything. Percival's higher brain will eventually remember that, but for now he just says, "Of course, darling."

Harry can't wait until they're home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [tumblr](https://wynnefic.tumblr.com/).


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